


A Bottle of Beer, A Bowl of Popcorn, And Thou Beside Me by Sabra Lindburg

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Challenge: Unusual Anniversary Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 05:43:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair and Jim are celebrating an anniversary, only Blair can't figure out what it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bottle of Beer, A Bowl of Popcorn, And Thou Beside Me by Sabra Lindburg

Disclaimer: The Sentinel, Jim Ellison, and Blair Sandburg are the property of UPN, Pet Fly Productions, etc. The story is mine. 

Rating: Uh, I dunno. G or PG, m/m implied but there is kissing. You decide:-). 

This was written in response to saraid's anniversary challenge. I can't believe I actually wrote something in time for one of these things (stop laughing, Jo(g))! 

Thanks, as ever, to Jo for serving as beta reader, research assistant (it pays to live with a librarian, folks), cheering section and friend. I kinda sprung this one on her on the spur of the moment, so all remaining faults rest squarely on my own shoulders. 

A side note about the title. I was originally just trying to be cute with it. But, when I asked my trusty research assistant for the proper quote, she came up with a bit of additional info that we found appropriate. The actual quote runs: 

>   
>  A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,  
>  A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread - and Thou  
>  Beside me singing in the Wilderness -  
>  Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow.  
> 

and it comes from Edward FitzGerald's English translation of Omar Khayyam's "Rubaiyat". (There are accents missing from the second 'a' in Khayyam and both 'a's in the title, but I don't want to mess with anyone's mail interpreter - especially my own(g).) Anyway- on to the point of this. In "Benet's Readers' Encyclopedia, Fourth Ed.", the "Rubaiyat" is described as follows: 

>   
>  In Fitzgerald's rendering, the "Rubaiyat" sings of the fact  
>  that because man has no understanding of an afterlife, he  
>  must allow his senses the fullest possible appreciation of  
>  life on earth.  
> 

Well, Jim certainly seems to be getting his money's worth! Okay, enough of this. At this rate, the story is going to be much shorter than the author's notes(g)! 

Comments, good or bad (no really, I'm prepared to defend most of what I write(g)) and suggestions are encouraged. 

## A Bottle of Beer, A Bowl of Popcorn, And Thou Beside Me

by Sabra Lindburg  
8 Aug 1997  


Blair hauled himself up the stairs to the loft, his body language telegraphing exhaustion rather than his usual exuberance. He already had his key out, ready to open the door, throw down his burdens, and head directly to bed. The anthropology conference that Rainier University (read Blair Sandburg) was hosting was taking up far too much of his time and energy these days. 

He stopped just before key engaged lock, as the sound of singing drifted through the still locked door. //Uh, oh.// Blair thought. //Jim's in the mood for something tonight, and from the sound of it, something likely to require much more energy than I possess at the moment. Like that's ever stopped me before!// 

Blair completed the movement of his hand, unlocking the door and stepping inside. Jim, who had no doubt known of his arrival since Blair had pulled into the packing space a full 10 minutes ago, immediately stopped singing, put down the mitt he had been using to check on the contents of the oven, and came forward to kiss his mate in greeting. It always amused Blair to no end that Jim would sing (and hum) like a canary as long as no one was in the room to hear him. He was usually content to let Blair listen to him from a distance, but always stopped short when Blair actually came into the room. 

Jim's greeting was enthusiastic, and Blair soon found himself reviving somewhat. But Sentinel senses had already catalogued the slight sag in posture, the slightly labored breathing and heart- rate, and the muted sparkle in dark blue eyes. 

"Hey, Chief. You okay?" 

"I'm just fine, Big Guy. Just a little tired, that's all. This conference is a lot of work." 

"Ever heard of the term 'delegation', Professor? What happened to all of your students hoping for extra credit? And what about the rest of your staff?" 

"Jim, you *know* there are always a million things that have to be coordinated at the last minute --" 

"And you have to personally attend to every one of them," the larger man said with a smile. His Blair had not changed one bit over the years, for which Jim was eternally thankful. 

Blair dropped the defensive position he had subconsciously slipped into, and smiled back. He still got his back up when Jim went into Blessed Protector mode, even though, these days, his protection was relegated to the academic world rather than the world of law enforcement. 

Jim reached out and began peeling his lover out of his scarf, heavy overcoat, and thick woolen gloves. All this time and Blair still had not adjusted to the weather in the Pacific Northwest. The winter months were especially bad. Jim had had ample opportunity to see Blair in his preferred climate, when he had accompanied the anthropologist on numerous school outings and expeditions over the years. And of course, on their mission to rescue Simon and Daryl from the wilds of Peru. 

Now divested of hampering outerwear, Blair took notice of his surroundings. The lighting was subdued, but Jim tended to prefer it so these days; his eyes had become more sensitive to bright lighting over the years. The table was set with table cloth and Blair's favorite set of pottery dinnerware that they had purchased from a local artist at a craft fair at the U. And the positively mouth-watering smells of chicken and spices were wafting from the kitchen. It was on this that Blair chose to comment. 

"Whoa! What's cooking, Big Guy? Can it be Tagine de Poulet?" he asked, definitely feeling more alive at the thought of food. 

"Right on the mark, Chief. It's dinner from Mohammed's, complete with dessert -- those little horny cookies you love so much." 

Blair laughed at their private joke. Ever since Blair had explained to Jim that the French name for the crescent-shaped cookies, Cornes des Gazelles, literally meant Antelope Horns, the ex-cop had developed his own name for them. 

"I though we deserved something special, given the date," Jim continued. "And I want to eat *in* tonight," he finished, with meaning. 

Exhaustion on the backburner for the moment, Blair waggled his eyebrows at his lover. But Jim cut him off, saying, "Well, for that reason, too. But I thought it would be appropriate to eat here tonight, given the occasion and all." He punctuated his words with an encouraging and hopeful look, all but begging Blair to pick up the gauntlet and acknowledge his hints. 

//Here we go again!// thought Blair. This had evolved into a game between them. Blair did a mental sort through all of the anniversaries the pair had celebrated over the years they had been a couple, but he came up blank. In the beginning, Blair never would have taken Jim for the overly romantic type, but the ex-cop had found reason to celebrate the tiniest details of their life together. Jim was always surprising his partner by finding special meaning in some simple moment that had been shared between them. 

It was not that Blair valued these times any less, it was more that he tended to view their relationship linearly rather than cyclically. Which was not to say that he did not enjoy memories of the past; he just did not instill certain of these with special meaning. Every moment of time with Jim was given equal importance in Blair's eyes. He had learned long ago, before he had been blessed with Jim, not to dwell on a past that had been so full of good times punctuated all too frequently by painful partings. Somehow, even though he had found peace in the permanence of his relationship with Jim, Blair still found it difficult to keep track of the dates that came so readily to his partner. But he relished the challenge of sifting through the past for clues to the moments Jim found worthy of recognition. 

The younger man snapped out of his woolgathering to find his partner still staring at him with that expectant gaze. Jim always seemed to be waiting for Blair to make the connection and guess the reason behind his celebrations. 

"Sorry, Big Guy, I'm gonna have to disappoint you on this one. You've got me stumped. It's not one of the biggies," Blair said with just the tiniest suggestion of uncertainty creeping into his voice. He once again ran down the list of major anniversaries in his mind: first meeting, first kiss, first time making love, wedding. No, definitely not one of those. He raised his hands in defeat, his brows in supplication. 

Jim never appeared to be disturbed by his partner's inability to come up with an occasion. In fact, he would have been shocked had Blair come up with the reason for this fancy dinner. But he was not quite ready to reveal the mystery behind today's date. It was too much fun imagining the thoughts churning furiously beneath those curls, watching that still expressive and much-loved face light up with promise then dim with rejection as possibilities were tested then refused. Jim would let Blair off the hook eventually, but it could wait until after dinner. 

The meal was superb, mainly due to the fact that Jim had had it catered by their current favorite Moroccan restaurant. He had long ago conceded that his talents did not lie in the kitchen, and had gladly relinquished that territory to his partner. Blair cooked and Jim handled clean-up, which suited Jim's compulsion for cleanliness. While he had mellowed some over the years, Jim still retained that need for order. Unfortunately, Blair had also held on to his tendency for sprawl; but arguments over this subject had approached extinction as each acknowledged the fact that neither was likely to change his behavior at this late date. 

Jim passed Blair a beer. "Here, Chief. Take this and settle yourself on the couch in there while I finish up with the dishes." 

Blair considered the choice of beverage with a bit of bewilderment. He had nothing against a good beer, but anniversaries tended to run more toward wine or champagne in Jim's book. Beer seemed somewhat casual. With a frown of concentration, Blair turned and headed for the couch. 

Back in the kitchen, Jim gathered up the dishes and placed them in the sink. Before starting his clean-up, however, he removed a packet of popcorn from the cupboard, and placed it in the microwave. He turned to see if Blair had noticed, but the anthropologist was still contemplating his beer. 

As he rinsed dishes, Jim hummed to himself while reviewing a mental list: beer-check, popcorn-check, movie-check. There was only one thing missing, and there was no *way* Jim was going to duplicate that aspect of this occasion. 

Jim winced slightly as the pain in his leg chose that moment to make itself felt once more. He dialed down the pain and was once again grateful that he and Blair had sprung for a dishwasher some time ago, making clean-up much quicker. While the wound had caused a major lifestyle change by taking Jim out of the line of fire and placing him behind a desk, it was rarely noticeable outside of work. But every once in a while, particularly when he had been standing a lot over the course of a day, he was rewarded with a fierce ache in his right knee. But Jim was not going to allow this to impinge on his plans for the evening. Then again, if Blair's nodding head was any indication, this evening might not progress much beyond a snuggle on the couch. 

Blair was oblivious to all of this, as he sat on the couch in the living room. The combination of the warmth of the fire in the fireplace, and the warmth caused by good food and wine with dinner sent a reminder to Blair's body that he had been close to collapse when he had walked up to the front door. He was slowly sliding into a doze, when the smell of popcorn permeated the loft. 

//Okay...I give up. What in the *hell* is he going for on this one.// Blair could remember numerous nights spent in front of the tube with a bowl of popcorn and a beer in hand. But this was not typical anniversary fare. At least the challenge of following his partner's thinking was waking him up again. 

Jim chose that moment to return to the living room, big bowl of popcorn in one hand, beer in the other. He set the bowl and bottle on the table, and looked a bit worriedly at his mate. "You want to call it quits here, Chief? We can save all of this for another night if you're not up to it." 

The words were casual, but the concern behind them was strong. Blair knew Jim was not happy with some of the hours the anthropologist kept at the U. But so far, other than pointed questions about his health, Jim had refrained from making demands. But the concern was evident and very touching. 

Blair grasped Jim's hand and gave it a squeeze, at the same time sitting up a little straighter on the couch. "No way are you gonna get me to give up on *this* one, man. I can't wait to see what's behind this. I may not be up to a marathon, but I'm not ready for the rest home, yet," he said with a chuckle. 

Jim smiled, and got up, a little too quickly for the comfort of his leg. Blair sprang to his feet immediately, offering support to his lover. There was a time when Jim would have pushed aside such an offer, but those days were long past. He smiled down at his lover, and bent slightly to brush a kiss over Blair's lips. 

"Thanks, partner. I'm okay now. Just got up a little too quickly there," Jim reassured, moving away now, toward the video cassette recorder and the tape he had left cued. 

Blair's tension eased when he saw Jim's smile, and the kiss did not hurt, either. But he remained standing until Jim had proven he was not going to fall. It was instinct now, as Jim had been so unwilling to admit he had a weakness when he had first been injured, and had routinely pushed his damaged leg beyond its endurance. Blair had braved a sharp reprimand every time to provide support, and had made a conscious effort to allow Jim as much dignity as possible, withdrawing as soon as the ex-cop had found his footing again. 

Slowly, Jim had come to realize how much Blair was holding back in these cases. Blair was a nurturer by nature, and would have had Jim on permanent bedrest, leg propped up on a feather pillow, with Blair running about waiting on him hand and foot, if allowed. But his mate also knew Jim Ellison well enough to offer exactly what Jim was capable of accepting, and then backing off. Jim once again sent up a grateful prayer to whomever or whatever was responsible for sending Blair Sandburg into his life. 

Jim turned on the VCR and returned to the couch, remote in hand. He eased himself carefully onto the seat and immediately found himself wrapped in a Blair-blanket, a head resting on Jim's shoulder, one arm encircling Jim's waist, one leg draped over Jim's left leg, carefully avoiding contact with the right. Jim gazed down with amusement and love, dropping a light kiss on his lover's hair. 

Shifting the remote to the hand that was not full of Blair, Jim pressed >PLAY>, and waited for the reaction. Oh, how he loved this anniversary game! 

By half an hour into the 1950's crime drama, Jim found himself surprised that Blair had not yet cracked. By ten minutes his lover had stopped snuggling, by twenty he was fidgeting, twenty-five brought the first frustrated sigh, but he still had not said a word. Jim knew it could not be long now, though. 

Thirty-five minutes proved to be Blair's breaking point, his squirming having reached epic proportions. Jim smiled in triumph as Blair removed his leg from Jim's lap (much to Jim's disappointment) and sat up, blinking owlishly at the screen. "Okay. I give. You win. Please, *please* tell me what possible significance this movie can have, because I'm going crazy here trying to find any," he pleaded, a hint of accusation in his tone. The mood completely lost to the pursuit of an answer, Blair pulled away from Jim completely and sat back on the couch, looking flustered as his eyes darted from Jim to the television screen and back, hands gesturing and mouth opening and closing as too many thoughts warred for the right to be voiced. 

While he regretted the loss of contact, Jim was delighted at the state to which he had reduced his lover. This phase was always his second favorite part of the whole game. But it was now time for his favorite part; the time had come to let Blair off of the hook. 

Jim captured Blair's rapidly moving hands in his, arresting their movement. He released the left hand to move the index finger of his right hand to Blair's lips, silencing Blair's spluttering attempts at speech. As he caught Blair's gaze, he felt the younger man begin to relax, muscles eased, heart rate slowed, breathing quieted. 

While his mate had calmed on the exterior, Jim knew Blair's mind was still in overdrive. After a moment, a look of partial recognition crossed his Guide's face. Jim sent him an encouraging look, asking without words for Blair's thoughts. Blair's eyes narrowed in speculation, but he seemed unwilling to voice his guess. 

Jim took pity, and made the first move. "Does the name *Larry* mean anything to you?" he enquired casually, flashing his still-devastating smile. 

Blair's eyes widened as his suspicions were confirmed. He was lost for a moment in memories he had not taken out and replayed in many years. Jim and Blair ensconced on another couch, this one in Blair's warehouse home, just after the Guide had found his Sentinel. There had been beer, popcorn, a movie and...Blair looked around the loft nervously. "Uh, you aren't planning to duplicate this in its entirety, are you, Big Guy?" he asked. 

Jim laughed out loud at this, and shook his head vehemently. "No way, Chief. The closest I want to come to a barbary ape these days is a picture in a book. And as for the pyrotechnic portion of that night, we're a bit too old to be leaping over couches these days, eh?" 

Blair reluctantly agreed, then became speculative again. "So, what exactly are we celebrating, here? That was a pretty memorable night and all, but why now, after all this time?" 

Jim scooted over closer to Blair, maintaining his grip on Blair's right hand. "We are celebrating, lover, because 40 years ago tonight, you looked up at me with those big puppy dog eyes of yours, and made me a solemn promise." 

Blair looked disgusted momentarily at the use of 'puppy dog eyes', then began to wrack his brain for a clue to the nature of the promise. He had not yet consciously acknowledged his growing feelings for his Sentinel at that point in time and could not for the life of him remember making any vows, solemn or otherwise. He finally gave up, defeat written all over his face. 

Jim drew the moment out a bit longer, waiting to drop the bomb. Finally, the anticipation got the better of him, and he said, simply, "Forty years ago tonight, you promised me that, if I let you stay at my place, you'd be out of here in a week," Jim softened the dig at his partner's expense with a wide smile. 

For a second, Blair relived the persistent terror of years ago, that Jim would take him up on his promise and boot him out of the door. For two years, Blair had lived with that fear, never quite believing that Jim would actually throw him out, but never quite believing that Jim would actually allow him to stay either. 

The fear had lessened somewhat with each piece of art Blair was allowed to display, each anthropology book that wormed its way onto the shelves in the living room, each recording of tribal chants that found its way into the audio collection. Blair had been much encouraged when Jim had installed permanent doors on his old bedroom. But he had still been troubled at the time in the back of his mind by the thought that they had never resolved this issue; that the words had remained unspoken. 

Truth be told, this was the first time in forty years that either of them had officially spoken of it. The last time it had been mentioned was the morning after Larry had trashed the loft. After they had become lovers, it just followed that they would continue to live together. And the wedding six years later had just reinforced this. There was never a need to bring up the subject--until now. Blair was not worried, precisely, just puzzled and a little annoyed. 

Jim sensed his partner's irritation and finished the rest of his speech. "Calm down, there, Chief. I didn't mean that like it came out. You know me and words. Let me try this again. I know we've never talked about this, and there's something I want you to know. I may have grumbled and fussed about it over the years -- I'm not big on change as you must be aware of by now -- but...," he faltered momentarily, looking for just the right words and settling for the simple truth, "I just want to say that I'm forever grateful that you didn't live up to your words that night." 

Blair just sat there and stared, mouth hanging slightly open. When he did not speak, Jim flushed crimson. His usual embarrassment at having spoken from the heart was magnified by Blair's lack of reaction. That lack indicated to the ex-cop that he had seriously missed the mark with his surprise. Maybe that dig had been a little too much. 

Blair recognized the signs of Jim's withdrawal, and stopped it with a light touch to his partner's flushed cheek. When he thought he could speak without seriously disgracing himself, Blair said, voice cracking anyway with emotion, "Jim, man, that was...I don't know what to say...You really got me with that one. I was a little worried there for moment. Couldn't quite figure out why you'd bring all of that up again. But I'm...I'm glad we finally laid it to rest, you know? It used to scare the daylights out of me, thinking that you would wake up one morning and decide that that week had been up a long time ago. I mean, before we got together." 

Jim's tension had slowly ebbed while Blair spoke. "I know what you mean, Chief. I won't lie to you; there were times, at the beginning, when I was more than ready to hold you to your word. But then I'd think of how empty everything would be without you, and...well..." Jim finished his statement with a helpless shrug. He had apparently reached the limits of his soul-baring for this evening. 

Blair was more than content with what he had received, though. Jim rarely spoke like this, even after all this time. The Sentinel had always been better with demonstrations of affection, so Blair had come to treasure the times when Jim expressed himself verbally. Besides, he had never needed words to verify Jim's love for him; Blair, of all people, knew the ambiguous nature of words. He was secure in his love without the need for grandiose but empty vows and protestations. 

He leaned into Jim's embrace, drawing his lover closer with the hand that still rested on the older man's cheek. Lips brushed, then parted, allowing deeper exploration. When they pulled away to catch a breath, Jim found himself disguising a flinch as he wrenched his bad knee trying to turn to meet Blair. At the same moment, Blair was trying desperately to conceal a yawn that had been building for some time, despite his willing it otherwise. 

Both men broke their gazes at one another with a grin and a laugh. "So much for romance! Aren't we a pair? Two old men -- all we're good for is a quiet cuddle on the couch," Blair said with amusement. 

Jim turned serious again. "That sounds mighty nice to me, Chief." Unwilling to remain totally solemn, he threw in, "Maybe a grope or two, for good measure." 

Blair shifted once again to drape himself across his lover, especially careful of Jim's bad knee in the wake of his discomfort. Jim tightened his arms around his Guide and both men settled back to watch the rest of a tape neither one of them was particularly interested in, sharing little touches, gentle kisses -- and the occasional grope.  
  


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